


One Of Those Rare Nights

by RazMahDaz



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt has big arms for a reason, God came down to me at 4 am and told me to write this, I am simply a vessle, Implied Relationships, Jaskier has a tough performance, M/M, Oneshot, and that's to hold a single bard, listen man, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazMahDaz/pseuds/RazMahDaz
Summary: Jaskier has a bad performance but Geralt is there to hug him after. Also lap sitting. That GOOD SHIT.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103





	One Of Those Rare Nights

Tonight was one of those rare nights. Once a year, maybe twice, Geralt was be blessed by some ancient being with nights like tonight.

A night where the hunt went easier so no potions were used. A night where his swords were sharpened and his armor was taken care of. A night where he had a room at an inn with a large bed, bath, and plenty of food.

It was a rare night where Geralt of Rivia, famous Witcher, had absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to be.

After he had dinner and Jaskier was left to attend his audience, Geralt made his way up to their shared room, made his way under the warm water of a lovely bath, and then found his way into that oh-so large and comfy bed in the middle of the room, where he sits now In some loose pants, reading a book that was left on the nightstand.

It was none of Jaskier’s, no. Geralt had already thumbed through most of his collection. And to make it any more obvious, the tale that these adventurers go through were obviously not written anyone that had actually seen the monsters in real life. The way that sword duels were written, the way that wyverns were described, Geralt couldn't really help but knit pick his way through each chapter. Nonetheless, he was calm and refreshed and...Gods be damned, Geralt found himself maybe relaxing for the first evening in many many months.

Jaskier, sadly, didn’t seem to be having a similar night.

He walked through the door a few hours after Geralt had left him. And he looked like an absolute mess. His hair was disheveled, there were deep bags under his eyes, and he was practically dragging his lute across the floor as he made his way to the vanity. If Geralt wasn't worried before, then he certainly was when the bard haphazardly dropped his instrument and began shucking off his brand new and very expensive pastel pink doublet, letting it join his lute on the floor.

“Rough night?” Geralt asked, his eyes glued to the slumped over shadow of his bard.

“Rough Crowd,” the younger man replied as he gave himself a lookover in the mirror. He wasn’t covered in rotten food or someone else's drink, but he definitely hated how those frown lines were etching their way into his face. He let out a low and long sigh as he began to ramble.

“Couldn’t seem to please anyone,” he began as he started pacing across the room, his usual boisterous posture traded in for more of a slump. “Not a ballad, nor joke, nor poem. It seemed everything I did or said either went over their heads or was disregarded. I got heckled, Geralt! Heckled! The last time I got heckled was my first year at Oxenfurt!” Jaskiers arms waved around as he went on his rant, and his hands eventually did begin to unlace his breeches.

Geralt had closed his book and pushed it to his side, preparing to move to make room for his companion. He listened to the poor bard go on about his night, and the Witcher couldn’t help but feel a little bad he hadn’t stayed to at least support him through it. He recalled he did hear laughter here and there, but since he was lost in reading, Geralt assumed that it was because Jaskier had told a very good joke. But if there was anyway Geralt knew how to get through evenings like this, where Jaskier swore the whole world was against him, than he’d have to rant it out of his system before he went to bed. ‘Bad ends to the day make for bad dreams’ the bard always claimed. And Geralt listened to all of it without any reservation.

He sat up straighter as he watched Jaskier step closer to the bed, and as he got through the long rampant prows of his woes, Jaskier started to quiet a bit, his face falling farther than it had before. It made Geralt’s eyebrows knotch.

“Had the audacity to call me a waste of a man. Told me to find a ‘real’ profession,” Jaskier almost whispered as he stomped his way out of his boots and breeches. Those words made Geralt’s heart sink into his gut. To have your own life, your own hard work, be called a waste...Well, he could only be empathetic. And he knew especially how hard Jaskier let words hit him, especially when it came to anything he was passionate about. He’d seen the bard take criticism, but outright unshielded hatred always seemed to take that shine out of his eyes.

The Witcher pushed back the large and heavy blanket down, and started to shift to give Jaskier his corner of the bed beside him. But before Geralt could escape, one of the bard’s long and lazy, gangly legs swung over to the opposite side of his thigh, and in one solid swoop, Jaskier had planted himself in Geralt’s lap. This was hardly the first time his bard has done this, not even hiding the action in public, but every time the Witcher finds himself pinned, his breath can’t help but hitch. His hands did come up to massage the outside of his thighs trying to do his best to comfort the man.

“I’m sorry that I tried to bring a little light to this disgusting po-dunk town,” Jaskier mumbled as he began taking off the necklace he had decided to wear. “Sorry that I wanted to give the people something prettier to look at besides the Cows,” he continued as he plucked each finger clean of his rings.

Jaskier attempted to reach out to place the collection onto the little nightstand, but he found himself just falling short. As Jaskier leaned close, one hand came up to his back and pulled him close into the crook of the Witcher's neck, while the other collected the jewelry and gingerly placed it onto the wooden table. The bards arms came up to hook around the broad shoulders he was being pulled into, and his whole torso became flush with Geralt’s. Everywhere Jaskier’s skin connected felt absolutely searing against the Witcher’s naturally cold skin, and vice versa for his companion.

“Those people are a rarity,” Geralt almost purred, the rumble of his voice making Jaskier’s chest vibrate. “You are the only bard I've seen win over even the worst of crowds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an audience that you couldn't swoon.”

“Geralt, dear?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm?” He responded.

“You do remember that when we met, I was literally being pelted with bread by a crowd that hated me,” the bard reminded, but Geralt could feel the smile the other was muffling into his skin.

“Like I said,” The Witcher responded with a huff of a laugh. “A rarity.” Jaskier’s head turned harshly, and his forehead was burrowing into the line where his neck met his shoulders, his messy hair tickling him a bit. 

Geralt’s arms moved again, one holding him like he was not but a tired toddler, and his other coming up to run his calloused fingers through those soft brown locks. His thumb circled just near his temple, relieving the stress that was bundled there and the rest of his fingers just scratched and lightly tugged at Jaskier’s scalp. It’s what he did when Geralt got back from long hunts, his body thrumming with potions and his muscles being pulled taught like bowstrings. And everytime Jaskier’s lovely fingers tangled their way into his messy and gut slick hair, Geralt felt like he was melting under that warm touch. And from the way Jaskier’s breathing was slowing and his shoulder began to loosen, He knew he was doing the right thing.

He felt one of Jaskier’s eyes flutter open, before shutting again. “Were you reading?” the bard hummed lazily against his collar bone.

“I was,” Geralt replied simply.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier drawled, seemingly genuinely apologetic. “For Interrupting.”

Geralt’s head just sank onto the top of Jaskier’s, his white hair being brushed back a lazy hand that wasn’t his. “Don’t be. You’re far more interesting. Whoever wrote that is surely below you. They’ve probably never seen any of the beasts the book describes in their life, if how they describe their fights is anything to go by.”

While the Witcher spoke, he felt the bard sink deeper into him, like the warmest and thickest quilt on the continent had just been thrown on top of him. The tension in Jaskier’s face had completely scurried away, his once-knotting back gone slack under the strokes his hand had been repeating for minutes. Jaskier was close to sleep if his body language was anything to go by. But if he had learned anything from his bard’s doting, it’s that necessities should be met before bed.

“Need anything?” Geralt asked against the other's skull, his lips just grazing Jaskier’s head. “Water? Food?”

“This,” Jaskier stated, his arms giving a light squeeze around the Witcher’s shoulders. “You,” he meekly mumbled as he placed a lighter than breath kiss to Geralt’s throat. The Witcher couldn’t hear his stomach growling, and predicted that the bard would be getting up in the night to wet his worn throat with water. But right now, Jaskier seemed content as he was, and so did his body.

Geralt rolled over a bit to his side, keeping Jaskier’s head on his shoulder so as to not disturb the poor man. The hand that was tangled in the others hair was now reaching down to pull the heavy blanket over the both of them. Once it was in place, that same hand came up to brush lightly over the place on Jaskier’s chest where his heart was just beneath flesh, his fingers delicately brushing over the gentle beat that Geralt had started to associate with home. The calming scent of lavender filled his senses as he knew the bard was falling into unconsciousness.

“You’ve got me,” Geralt hums as he places a kiss on Jaskier’s forehead. The hand on his bard’s back does a gentle wave, and with a small use of Igni, all the lights were banished from the room. “You always will.” Geralt almost missed it, but his ear picked up the gentlest of ‘hmms’ from Jaskier’s tired throat.

And with that little response, Geralt could feel Jaskier slip into a comfortable unconsciousness. And if it dared to be disturbed by whatever remnants of this bad night that has permeated the bard’s gentle dreams, then Geralt would work him into this same state, over and over again.

This was certainly a rare night, for the better or the worse. But nonetheless, Geralt knew it’d be a night he’d hold close to his heart for decades to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed and have a comfy and cozy halloween! Stay Safe!


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